


Nightmares

by kissesinthekitchen



Category: Kim Namjoon - Fandom, Rap Monster - Fandom, namjoon - Fandom, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Body Worship, Comfort Sex, Declarations Of Love, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Kim Namjoon - Freeform, Kim Namjoon | RM-centric, Kim Namjoon/Original Female Character - Freeform, Kim Namjoon/Reader - Freeform, Kim Namjoon/You - Freeform, Making Love, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sweet Kim Namjoon | RM, bangtan boys - Freeform, bts - Freeform, namjoon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesinthekitchen/pseuds/kissesinthekitchen
Summary: Your eyes open and meet complete darkness.The entire room is pitch black except for the blue light illuminating the room from the T.V. screen in the corner of your bedroom. Faintly, it hits you that you’re awake. This comes in slow bursts. Your eyes narrow on the wall, then the television and the way your fingers are locked tenaciously around the edges of the duvet in front of you. You rip your gaze away from the white paint and try to sit up as you pinch your nose. Blood feels like it’s beginning to pulse in your head, a thudding, drumming nervous sound in your ears.Beside you, the covers are pulled back. His side - empty.You reach for your phone on the night stand - 2:03 a.m. He’s been in the studio all night, he even skipped dinner, but had watched some television with you before you fell asleep.You bite your lip, debating whether you should disturb his thought process when he’s in the middle of a new album and with so many ideas running through his head- but you can’t help yourself. You need him. You need him, badly.___Or the one where you have a bad nightmare and Namjoon does his best to make you feel better.
Relationships: Kim Namjoon | RM/Reader, Kim Namjoon/Reader, Kim Namjoon/You, Rap Monster/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> There are some elements of violence and horror in the dream that is depicted in the story, but nothing graphic enough to warrant an explicit warning! Be cautioned if you're not a fan of that sort of thing! Otherwise, this is just a lot of loving comfort sex with boyfriend!Namjoon. <3

Your eyes open and meet complete darkness.

The entire room is pitch black except for the blue light illuminating the room from the T.V. screen in the corner of your bedroom. Faintly, it hits you that you’re awake. This comes in slow bursts. Your eyes narrow on the wall, then the television and the way your fingers are locked tenaciously around the edges of the duvet in front of you. You rip your gaze away from the white paint and try to sit up as you pinch your nose. Blood feels like it’s beginning to pulse in your head, a thudding, drumming nervous sound in your ears. 

Beside you, the covers are pulled back. His side - empty. 

You reach for your phone on the night stand - 2:03 a.m. He’s been in the studio all night, he even skipped dinner, but had watched some television with you before you fell asleep. 

You bite your lip, debating whether you should disturb his thought process when he’s in the middle of a new album and with so many ideas running through his head- but you can’t help yourself. You need him. You need him, badly. 

_“Still awake? Come back to bed. Miss you.”_ You shoot him a quick text and then put the phone back down, throwing the duvet around your shoulders, trying to ignore the trembling you can still feel in your fingers as you set out to where you know you will find him. 

Your slippers make soft clapped sounds against the hardwood floor as you start pattering down the hallway to his studio, hope lodged in your throat and hesitation weighing heavy on your shoulders. 

You knock softly on the door, before twisting the knob open. 

“Namjoon-ah?” And oh, you sound miserable. If your voice doesn’t give you away, you’re certain the tears that are filling your eyes will. 

The deep baritone of his voice sounds so smooth in the dark, the lights in the room all dim except for a few candles he has by his computer. It always takes you back how smooth it sounds, almost like velvet or honey personified. 

“Jagiya-I’m almost done, I-” 

You hear the creak of his computer chair turn as he takes you in, his eyes catching yours as you nervously stand at the threshold of the door. He flicks the light on his desk on with one hand to the side, worry quickly stretching over his features. 

“Y/N,” he says, his voice dipping with worry as he examines you. “Are you okay?”

You can hear the sound of the rain falling outside, the wind whistling, but Namjoon looks completely warm and unaffected. His white shirt and joggers hanging over his tall frame. He looks so comforting, he always does. But right now what you want more than anything is to feel like you can crawl into his lap and rest, your panicked heart wants nothing more than that. 

“Are you okay?” He repeats the question a second time and your eyes meet. You’re taken aback as you stare into the concern that is written so vividly across his face. It makes something inside your chest ache. “Come here, yeobo.” He opens his arms and you all but stumble on your feet towards the invitation.

It’s hard to maneuver the duvet with you and he smiles at that, but you manage to wrap one of your arms behind his neck and pull yourself into his lap, so you’re resting against his thigh with your back to the monitor. 

“What’s wrong?” You see his eyes narrow as he examines you much closer now. 

“I’m fine. I’m okay. I-I just had a bad dream,” you stammer out. (And even as the words leave your mouth they sound like a lie.)

Because it’s an understatement. Your nightmares are always so excruciating because they feel so real, the images and sounds are always so loud, so vivid, so much like real life. It’s been like this for as long as you can remember, you can recall being woken up as a child screaming or clenching handfuls of bedsheet with tears streaming down your cheeks.

Night terrors, the doctors had called them that once. Thank god, they don’t happen as often as they used to but growing up was a frightening time for your parents.

Namjoon’s long fingers reach out to smooth the hair out of your face and your cheek relaxes into the cup of his palm. Your hands circle his wrist, grateful for his touch. He’s gotten used to them too. “You haven’t had one in a long time, jagi. I’m sorry. I should have been there.”

“Mmm,” you say softly, closing your eyes. “S’okay.”

He slowly gets up from the chair to stand to his full height and your arms cling to his waist as he bends down to shut off his computer. You feel a little guilty taking him away from his work, but he seems to understand this too. He squeezes you where you’re holding him around his tummy and softly pecks a kiss to your hairline. “Come on. Let’s go,” he says, as he walks you back to your bedroom, both of his arms around you too. 

You’re weary as you go back to your room, kind of like returning to the scene of a crime. But he eases you down onto your bed, both of his hands on your shoulders. You’re silent but grateful for his carefulness and for the feel of him against you. 

“Something to make you feel better?” he says, trying to read the uncertainty on your face. “I’ll be right back, jagi.” 

When Namjoon turns his back, you have to fight the urge to stop him. Your fingers yearn to grab at his elbow or wrap both of your arms around his waist to pull him back to the mattress. - But his long legs are already up and off the bed before you can try to. 

He turns off the television and smiles as you, squeezing your knees as he walks around the bed to leave. 

You sigh and lie back, burying your head into one of the soft pillows, taking deep breaths, making sure to breathe in Namjoon’s scent. You hope it can lull the panicked beating of your heart, but it’s not working. The images from the dream still haven’t left you and you’re helpless as they loom and spin. Back and forth. Back and forth. Again and again.

You’ve always had horrible nightmares: masked men with chainsaws chasing you down corridors with hallways that seem to never end. Faceless bodies with hands gripping your ankles. Zombies gnashing into your throat. 

Even simple ones have felt unbearable, dreams where you’re drowning, where for a second - the silence, the finality of everything makes your breath catch with how real it feels. Losing yourself, you’ve always been able to brave that - but this is the first time Namjoon’s been there. 

This is the first time you’ve ever dreamt something so horrible. 

There had been three of them. 

Three strangers in white masks who had broken into your home. In the dream, it had been much larger, not your apartment in Gangnam but an enormous mansion with spiraling staircases, hidden doors and hiding places. That should have been an advantage. It should have been enough to save the both of you but it hadn’t. It wasn’t enough.

They’d gotten to Namjoon first. 

You wince slightly, your teeth clenching. Your hands gripping the pillow beneath your head as it comes back to you. 

The man caught Namjoon in the hallway, had used a long, knife with a serrated edge to stab him repeatedly in the stomach. You remember the sound of the silver meeting flesh, the horrifying wet noise it made when the knife slid through Namjoon’s skin again and again. The sickening sound of resistance and hesitance as the knife met bone. 

You remember the sound of Namjoon’s knees hitting the floor. You can still see the circle of blood on his shirt, the tattered rag of material. The wet sound of flesh seeping through it. The coppery smell of his blood. 

You watched as it happened, frozen in place like a statue with your back facing a wall, paralyzed with fear and still unable to leave him, not even when he started to scream. First, to tell you to run, and then again, as the man dragged the knife through his stomach and his voice died in his throat.

Your head swims with nausea. Your mouth suddenly feels dry. You's going to be sick, god, you’re going to be-

You press a hand to your chest, can feel the way your heart hammers beneath the weight of your palm. You roll over onto your side, stretching your free arm out so you can squeeze the pillow next to you, trying to reassure yourself that it’s all over.

You’re still here. You’re still safe. 

You concentrate on the noises that you can hear coming from the kitchen. The comforting slide of Namjoon’s footsteps, of his slippers against the tiles. You try to imagine the shuffling sound his pajamas bottoms would be making right now, try to envision the way they look on his hips, the way his hair falls in his face when he gets up in the middle of the night. The deep indentation of his collarbones sticking out from the top of his shirt, and the sleepy look in his eyes. You listen to the sound of glasses and cups hitting each other as he rummages around trying to find his favorite mug, of the cupboard door being closed when he finally does, of the microwave counting down.

But the film strip continues.

Seeing that, seeing the life drain from Namjoon’s eyes and feeling like - no, absolutely knowing you wouldn’t ever be able to see him again-It made something inside of you, something so visceral and painful and angry and _real_ snap. You worked quickly then, using all of the strength you could muster to shove the man off of him. 

It worked.

He stumbled back into the hallway, joining his two female accomplices. They watched curiously, heads tilting to the side as you took Namjoon into your arms then, his wet, crumpled and tear stricken face into your lap and his bloody hands against your face. 

You remember the way the smiles taunted you, the way the ghostly expressions on their faces grinned back. How entertained they had seemed at the idea of seeing you suffer, at watching you crawl, crying, towards Namjoon - dying. Yourself, in pain. 

And the most haunting part of all: the way their eyes bore into your back, burning into your skin even as their true identities lay concealed behind the masks they wore over their real faces.

You shudder.

“I told you to run…” 

You remember the way Namjoon’s face looked then, the strangled sound of his breathing, his lips struggling to form each word with blood choking his throat. You can still feel the pressure of his breathing against the palm of your hand as you tried to hold the wound down, as the blood seeped between your fingers, trying to keep him together. 

“Namjoon,” you whimpered, the tears were blinding your vision but your hands stayed firmly planted where they were, refusing to let go of him. “I know. I know. Forgive me. You have to forgive me- I can’t leave you.”

He tried to smile then, you remember that most of all. The dimple in the left side of his mouth twitching, the feel of his fingers sliding down the length of your cheek as something like awe and love crossed across his features one last time - before his eyes rolled back. 

And he was gone and you were alone again in a way you never want to be-

“Do it then!” You screamed back at them. “Do it! Take me too!”

You turned to Namjoon’s lifeless body and slipped your arms tightly around him, pressing your face into the long line of his neck and hugging him closer.

“Namjoon! No! No! Take me with you.” You were sobbing now, squeezing him harder, clutching him closer even as the footsteps behind you grew louder, moving closer, reaching a crescendo. “Take me with you!”

And then you’d woken up.

You turn just in time to see Namjoon entering the room again. He’s holding a cup and saucer between his hands. He crosses the threshold with a smile but that quickly disappears as he glimpses the weary expression on your face. 

You’re dimly aware of the little hiccup noises coming from your throat, tiny gasps, the anxiety humming through your body - and with a sickening realization you recognize that you feel like you’re being pulled under by something that feels like a panic attack.

And then so quickly he’s sitting down next to you, gripping your shoulders with one hand and handing you the cup with the other. He's grasping your face, stroking your skin, nodding, urging you to drink. 

You're able to swallow a mouthful of the sweet camomile tea (with just a hint of honey, just the way you like it) before he stops, notices the trembling in your fingers. The bottom of the porcelain cup clanking noisily against the bottom of the plate as you try to drink.

“Y/N,” he says. He takes the cup away from you and then lifts it to your lips again, this time using his own fingers to cradle the handle. “Drink, baby. Drink.”

You nod, sipping the drink slowly, feeling the warm liquid coat your throat as you swallow. You steal glances at his face, peering up at him through your lashes as you drink and he stares back, watching wordlessly as you finish.

Finally, when the cup is empty, he sets it down next to your alarm clock on the bedside table.

“Okay,” he exhales as he turns to face you again. “What did you dream about?”

You can’t help yourself.

You throw your arms around his neck and pull him down closer to you, crushing him against your chest. 

"Noona-"

At first his body is still, motionless, as he tries to comprehend what you’re trying to say.

You’re still trembling, but a moment passes before his long arms finally slide around you and he hugs you close. His hands feel smooth, his long, thin fingers running down the length of you back and then up again, squeezing you hard. 

“Noona- you’re shaking?” he says, stroking up and down your skin, and then he pauses as the understanding dawns on him like a heavy weight. He should have known. “Something happened to me?” -he guesses correctly. 

You nod against his shoulder, squeezing handfuls of his shirt, your eyes welling up with new tears, little puffs of breath hitting his throat as you try in vain to keep yourself from becoming hysterical. 

“You died.”

You can feel his back shudder from between your hands, his arms locking tighter around you tighter - and for that you’re grateful.

“You left me,” you try to tell him, even as your throat threatens to collapse around each word. “There were three of them, too much for us...and they broke in, we were sleeping- and there was a man and he had two women with him...and they had knives. Knives! And then-” 

You start to shake as the words come tumbling out. Namjoon tries to pull back, struggling to grasp you at a distance so he can look at you but your arms are too strong, refusing to loosen their hold around his neck. 

A sob escapes your throat as he finally manages to pull your arms down so that he can hold them. He’s tilting your face up so that you have to look up at him when the sound escapes your throat. You feels so stupid and scared, so completely childish for crying, for letting a dream (a dream!) get to you this bad. 

“ _Namjoon._ There- there was so much blood.”

He lifts his hands up to your cheeks, wiping the tears away even as more quickly come to replace them.

“Shhh… noona,” he soothes, his hands against your face are so gentle that it almost makes you feel like crying all over again. “Shh. Shh. It’s okay.”

“Y-you told me to run, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t!” You shake your head back and forth against the palm of each of his hands so that he understands the impossibility of the thought. “I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t leave you!”

You touch his neck, relishing in the warmth that you can feel beneath your fingers, at the pulse you can so vividly feel beating underneath his skin. 

But he’s laughing quietly, chuckling as he touches your face, smoothing more tears away with his fingers, the fullness of his lips following their path and pressing kisses down so that your cheeks are dry. “Of course. Of course. You're so stubborn.”

You smile half heartedly at his attempt to make you smile and he squeezes your hands once, pulling you forward. His right hand is holding your face to his throat as he rocks you back and forth, whispering your name between breaths as you sniffle, wetting his shirt. You slide your arms around his waist as your crying stifles, the little gasps emitting from your throat finally dying down as he rocks you. 

“Shhh-shhh…it was just a bad dream,” he tells you, the deep rumble of his voice easing the panic in your heart. “It was just a nightmare. You’re safe. You’re safe and I’m here. Nothing‘s going to happen to us. Nothing’s going to happen to me. Don’t you believe me? I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Minutes go by as you sit, tangled in his arms. Namjoon is patient and protective, and his arms never leave your skin. You listen dutifully to his voice, to how low it is and how desperate he is to calm you down. 

He presses his lips to your hair, his cheek against the top of your head. He’s kissing at your skin, at the places he can reach with your face lying in the crook of his neck and you squeeze his shirt, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, trying to match it with your own- and realizing that this is the greatest comfort of all. 

He is here. He is alive. And he is yours.

His eyes lock with yours when you slide away from beneath his chin, finally pulling away.

“I-I can’t sleep right now,” you tell him. 

Namjoon nods, a soft smile gracing his lips, so accustomed to the silent understanding between you.

His arms trap you quickly and your hands take their former place, around his throat, your lips meeting. His kisses are soft. He’s kissing you so gently, like he’s trying to gauge what you need while simultaneously trying to see you’re okay. 

But your mouth is more urgent and just like before you can’t help yourself. You need him. You need him so badly. 

Your arms slide around his slender shoulders, your knees digging into the mattress as you pull yourself up closer to him and both of his arms slide around your waist to hold you steady. You part his mouth, tongue tracing his, biting the fullness of his lips. 

He’s moaning, grunting into your mouth, as your fingers slide beneath his shirt and you’re happy, desperate to draw these sounds out of him, wanting his voice to fill your thoughts and chase the horrible dream away.

Your attention falls to his clothing, Your hand moves to the white shirt he’s worn to the studio and now to bed. It smells like his shower gel and cologne, the coffee he had this morning and something so distinctly him. 

You kiss his skin, your mouth skimming against the exposed line you can see above the collar of his shirt, tongue dipping into the indentation of his collarbones. Your teeth scrape hard against him as your hands lift up the hem of his shirt, only pausing to grip him through his pants. You whimper as you feel his fingers clench around the back of your neck when you finally finish, and he throws the material to the floor.

Namjoon hastily shoves his pajamas bottoms down and then shifts, one arm bracing your spine as your back hits the mattress. The feeling is familiar, comforting. Like coming home. You’ve done this so many times now. He moves to hover over you and the weight of his body sinks you deeper into the soft material. Even after so many times, moments like this always feel new and you think that all of the time the two of you spent waiting and trying to find each other was worth it. The only prints you will ever want on your skin from now on, god- for the rest of your life, are from his hands. 

His mouth catches yours and his eyes meet yours and it’s so easy. He smiles, nodding again, understanding how much you need him. He shoves up your nightgown so that it's bunched up around your tummy. Your hands tighten around one another other, as if you’re also joined in the same thought, as you both reach to pull your panties aside - needing to be together again but wanting to be quick-

You spread your legs for him and he moves over you, his hands momentarily stopping to grope your breasts, teeth scraping where his fingers go and making you sigh. His cock is thick and hard against the inside of your thigh, catching against your slit - where you feel like you’re wet and needy. And he feels like he’s aching, so desperately hard for you that he’s gasping as he inches inside of you.

It takes two- three shifts of his hips, three shifts for you to groan his name - nails digging into his back -until he’s buried to the hilt. 

“I love you,” he says softly, lips pressed against your suddenly feverish skin. You think you feel him press a kiss to your forehead. “I love you so much-”

You touch his face, straining your neck to find his lips again. Your fingers grab for him, clenching the strands of his hair as you feel him retreat out of you, desperate to keep him, your hips shifting off the bed in retaliation.

“I love you-More,” you whimper. “More. Namjoon. Yes. Oh god.”

His hands lock around your fingers as he holds both of your hands above your head, his weight sinking down harder on top of you. Your fingers grasp the handles of the headboard above you as you arch back, gasping loud. You wrap your fingers around the bars, holding on tightly as Namjoon moves above you, stealing your breath with his movements. 

The arch of your back brings more of the fullness of your breasts to his attention, and he bends down to suck hard and bite down on the pebbles of your nipples. Your body tenses as his tongue only softens the ache of the bite.

“Namjoon. Namjoon.” You’re crying out his name, knowing how much he loves to have you at his mercy like this. He’s told you before how the sound of his name leaving your mouth turns him on just as much as your cunt wrapped around him. It drives him insane to know he’s the only one to get to hear you like this. You’re so soft and wet and desperate for him, it urges him on.

He’s laving at the marks and bites he’s made, soothing them with his tongue, and you whimper at the sensation and wetness of his mouth. 

“God, harder. Deeper. Namjoon,” you beg, desperate and somewhere almost near tears. “Please. Fuck me. Harder. I need you deeper. I need to forget. Please fuck me. I need it so bad.” 

You squeeze him hard between your thighs and are rewarded with a grunt, his hands scraping down your sides as he fucks into you deeper, faster. 

His weight shifts forward, knees bent, his strokes growing longer, harder. Beyond your whimpering and his moans, and the shaky movement of the bed beneath your bodies, you think you can hear the sound of his cock as he slides in and out of you, a soft, slippery noise that makes you shake each time your bodies reconcile. 

“Open your eyes. Fuck-” he demands. The pressure on your hips is so hard, his fingers leaving indents in the softest parts of you. He thrusts hard, his hips punctuating each word into you. The heavy sound of the headboard joining the wet noise of your bodies. “Noona, open your eyes.”

It’s a struggle, but you try to open your eyelids and meet his gaze.

“Look at me,” he says, his deep voice almost hoarse with how desperate he sounds. “Look into my eyes.”

You nods shakily as he angles you just right, so he can hit your favorite spot, body trembling beneath him. A moan escaping your throat before you can help it and you squeeze his shoulder. 

“God, so wet,” he says, his eyes clenching at the sensation - you feel so good - before they open again. “Noona, look at me. Look at me, Noona-”

His arms slide beneath you and before you know it you’re shifting. He’s rolling you both over until you find yourself suddenly sitting on top of him. He sits upright, bracing himself on one arm, tucking each of your legs down on either side of him so that you’re on his lap. 

He’s rambling, dizzy with how good the weight of you feels on top of him. 

“God,” he gasps. “ Sit on it, noona. Please-

You gasp, gripping his shoulders and the headboard hard as you’re seated on his cock. 

“Look at me,” he says, gripping your jaw hard. His patience wearing thin. “Look at me. Only me. Loving you… _shit,_ ” and then he hisses, kissing you hard, as he slides in deeper. “Look at me fucking you. Only me.-” (He’s inside so deep, You feel so full with his cock inside of you, but a distant voice inside of your head reminds you that you could never feel close enough to him. You’ll always want more. _More and more and more of him._ )

You nod shakily from between his grip. His hips buck up in reaction and he spreads his legs wide, feet against the mattress, fucking into you harder. 

He watches you as your back starts to arch, gaze lingering up the column of your neck as you continue to ride him, grinding your clit against him in a way that makes you feel dizzy. 

Your arms are tight around his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders. It stings but only makes his grip on you tightens, and you fight against the urge to break his gaze as it happens. 

“Namjoon,” you moan out his name, dimly aware of - but now caring- how embarrassingly loud your voice is. You know he wants you loud, you know he wants you begging.

You hold him closer, sinking down to your knees, your elbows digging into the soft pillow on either side of your head. The heavy weight of his arm against your back, of his chest pressed up against your skin and breasts makes you feel even more safe. He’s taking over you. 

His voice is harsh, lips wet. His hand is squeezing down your throat, the fingers of his other hand pinching your nipples as if to emphasize each word as he speaks - “Look at me. Only me. And I’m going to protect you. You don’t ever have to be afraid of anyone or anything.” 

He draws you more firmly onto his lap, his hand on the small of you back and the other on the back of your knee, keeping you open. His knees are angled, fucking up harder into you, your long hair cascading down over you shoulders with the force of it. 

You can feel him everywhere- the firm, thick hardness of his cock inside of you, his hips shifting, fucking up desperately into you, his hand on the small of your back and his fingers on your clit, the strong pull of his arms as he shifts you forward so that you’re grinding down on him so hard it makes you breath hitch and your mind fuzzy. 

“Baby,” he’s gasping. His hand reaches up to slide down your cheek, his fingers gripping your jaw, thumb swiping against your lip so that you have to look at him when he says it- “You are my life.”

The sincerity in his voice, the feel of his lips, and the fluid motions of his body- it’s too much to hear and feel him everywhere. His fingers rub anxiously at your clit, and your hand joins his, stroking yourself together as you are both sent spiraling.

His haze narrows as he watches how his cock disappears inside of you, coming back wet and glistening with you each time. And he grunts as he watches you touch yourself and kisses you hard, pushing his tongue deeper into your mouth as your climax hits you first and you start to come on his cock. (Always first. His competitive spirit could not do worse than to know he’d failed to get you to come first.) The fire spreads, and for a second, your body feels like it explodes. You’re trembling as you come back down, nails gripping his skin and you’re babbling, half formed sentences about how much you want - no, need- to feel him get off too.

“Namjoon. Come inside me. Namjoon-please-Come-”

You can feel him lose control, little gasps of “Yes-yes. Come. I’m gonna come inside you. Jagi-oh god-” leaving his mouth as it happens and he clutches your skin harder. 

You grip his side hard enough to leave bruises and he whimpers your name as the muscles in his body tense, his stomach clenching and relaxing repeatedly with release, his orgasm running through his body and filling you up with his come. 

You moan at the sensation, pulling strands of his hair, stroking his stomach, and he’s biting into your skin hard, marking the area where your throat meets your shoulder with his teeth. You don’t know how, but you feel wetter when he does it - your cunt mercilessly clenching around him at the sensation of his bite. 

As your breaths start to die down, you stroke the wet strands of hair at the nape of his neck. 

Namjoon’s breath is shaky and you can feel him press kisses to the mark he’s made on your throat, pressing his lips to it in something like devotion and adoration, the same way he did to the ones he left on your breasts.

“Jagiya?” he says softly, finally, straining to move his head from its place on top of your chest and all you can see is the pools of his beautiful brown eyes. He kisses the side of your throat, your jaw, your cheeks - once, twice, three times. Reverently. “I meant what I said.”

You clench the back of his head with your fingers, humming your approval as he speaks to you-

“You _are_ safe,” he says. “Nothing is going to ever hurt you.”

“I love you,” you tell him again, never ever tiring of having to remind him. “I love you. And it’s okay, I’ll protect you next time.”

“Noona-”

He laughs at your insistence and brings his face forward, kissing you softly, his hand gripping your hip as he moves to pull out of you but you frown, halting his movements, keeping both of your arms and legs around him.

“Stay,” you tell him. You’ll worry about the mess you both made together later.

He laughs, and he’s still smiling as he kisses you, hands on your face as he rolls onto the side of the bed, bringing you with him. His arms tighten around your naked shoulders, his hands gingerly stroking your skin. 

He feels so warm against your face You press your ear to his chest, arms sliding around his back to hold him, listening to his heartbeat again, letting it rock you to sleep. _He’s here._ You remind yourself. _He’s here. He’s alive. And he’s mine._

“Stay,” you whisper, feeling the hum of his breath against your hair, the beat of his heart in your hand. 

“Safe,” he murmurs as his eyelids closed, lips at your temple - “Promise.”

You fall asleep in his arms for the second time tonight, far too tired to dream this time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first BTS fic! And as I'm Namjoon-biased, I thought it would only be perfect that my first story be about him. Please leave me some kudos or comments if you like what you read. I appreciate it and would love to hear what you think!
> 
> Come fangirl with me over on Tumblr: [@thejenniferincident](http://thejenniferincident.tumblr.com) and my writing page [@kissesinthekitchen](http://kissesinthekitchen.tumblr.com). I'd love to have you. <3


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